Miss Manners (UN)Guide to Answering the Door

So far since living in the US I haven’t had any truck with the Joeys*. Maybe it’s because we lived in the middle of a largely Amish community when I first moved here. There’s no explanation why we’re escaping their visits now though, unless either my reputation proceeds me or they aren’t as tenuous here as in the UK.

When I lived in Tunbridge Wells shortly after the birth of Princess PITA they were a pain in the bum. They travelled in packs so if you didn’t answer the door to the first lot, the second would knock and so on. It was relentless.

Anyone who’s had a newborn knows how precious that time when they’re asleep is and, how you will happily pulverise anyone who disturbs them. I had a sign on my door saying “Baby asleep, knock and face the wrath of a tired Mother” – and they still knocked!!

I ended up answering the door with a hammer and threatening to meld their brains with the brickwork one day and ten minutes later – they knocked again!

So fast forward about fifteen years, I was staying with Titselina Bumsqueak as she’d just had an operation and needed some help. She also had a ten week old baby and a two year old so she was a flippin’ grumpy cow!

We were sat having a cup of tea when we saw a mini bus of Joeys unloading up the road. Leaving out the swear words, she said… well nothing really. She was inferring she didn’t want to converse with them anyhow! I said it’s okay, I’ll go to the door so we sat and waited for “the knock”

Sure enough, it came so I answered the door to a seedy, jaundiced looking chap with greased back hair and Harry Potters Aunt. A large lady in a frilly floral blouse with a cameo brooch, three chins, 2 warts and a blue rinsed beehive. Their conversation is in italics.

“Good afternoon, Do you love our Lord?”

I was faking a dreadful cockney accent. Let it be said, I’m diabolical at accents. I can’t even sound the slightest bit American to my lasting disgust.

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Published by the britchy one

A PROUD American Citizen who was born and bred in England and now resides in the US. I’m married to an American who really didn’t have a clue what he was letting himself in for - poor sod!
I’m a cranky bitch who loves cats and books and hates chocolate, politics and Dave’s. Oh and mosquitos. I hate those blood sucking parasites but since I’ve already mentioned politics I’m repeating myself!
I’m a short, skinny redhead, 3 kids, 2 dogs, not enough cats and a mouth with a death wish.
Blood group - certifiable.
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Oh no, they stopped coming to me after I answered the door in my nightie! I’d been pounding steaks with a meat hammer and still had it in my hand. I thought that was why they backed off looking horrified and it wasn’t until I looked in the mirror and saw I was covered in blood splatter from over enthusiastic pounding that I realised it wasn’t the hammer that scared them, it was me!!

I couldn’t take it anymore after reading the back door comment. Hilarious.
They used to come over ALL THE DAMN TIME when I was a kid. Because I had a few friends in class that were JWs, I knew they met a couple of times a week and went on various “retreats” to better themselves in the art of door to door sales. They WERE relentless. The thing was that those who would come to our door were not from our neighborhoods, so we didn’t know them, and couldn’t do much about it on a daily basis.

You know what? Personally, I prefer people like you to people with tight-lipped mouths. And least with people speaking their mind, I know what I’m getting myself into. Those who think things through and are selective with their words can prove to be backstabbers, two-faced, etc.